


what the water gave me

by heart_nouveau



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid, F/F, Mermaids, Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 14:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1901856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heart_nouveau/pseuds/heart_nouveau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three different imaginings of Sansa and Margaery as mermaids - separate stories to explore what might have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what the water gave me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon on Tumblr [[x](http://roseroadkingsroad.tumblr.com/post/77554313323/could-you-do-a-short-mermaid-au-sad-face-just-a-short)] and partially inspired by this fanart [[x](http://roseroadkingsroad.tumblr.com/post/77533868304/cosettefauchelevent-for-femslash-february-a)].
> 
> Title from the song of the same name by Florence + the Machine.

 

 

 

> I.  _Sansa trapped in King’s Landing; Margaery as a curious mermaid who falls in love with her._

 

It’s one final cruel remark from her betrothed, the prince, that finally sends Sansa running out of the castle in tears, past the courtiers who stare and whisper behind upheld hands, down the garden paths and to the pitifully bare and open ground King’s Landing has for a godswood.

It’s not the godswood she seeks, however—it’s a place she’s only seen once from that vantage point, a place where the aquamarine water of the bay meets the jagged sharp rocks, a place that’s simultaneously wild and beautiful. The shore is a fierce and desolate place, entirely out of place in this false golden city, and that is exactly what Sansa craves.

It takes longer to get to the rocky shore than she expected, and she scrapes her feet in their slippers as she goes. Once there, she sniffles and wraps her arms around her knees, not caring for once if her gown gets dirty. They will scold her, but that will happen no matter how neat she keeps herself and Sansa is long past believing that pretty appearances will save her any pain. She trails her fingers through the clear cool water, sucks on the salty droplets, and tastes them, familiar misery curling in the pit of her stomach.

“But why are you crying?” inquires a light, almost eerie voice, and Sansa startles. She jerks her head up out of the cradle of her arms and stares.

It’s a girl, but not a girl. Her face is framed by billows of long green hair, her cheeks have the iridescent shine of pink fish scales, and her teeth are pearly in her little mouth.

Sansa tries to speak, but all her words die away in astonishment.

“You are so beautiful. How can you be so sad?” the girl inquires, cocking her head to the side. She eases up onto her elbows on a nearby rock, and something flops in the water behind her. Suddenly, taking in the girl’s pearly green scales and body lolling half-in, half-out of the surf, Sansa realizes what this girl must be.

She feels dazed. Perhaps she really is going mad. Perhaps the strain of her daily encounters with Joffrey, the humiliation and stress, have all gone to her head and made her see things that she _knows_ only belong in children’s stories. But the curious expression on the not-girl’s face makes Sansa want to share, and it’s been so long since anyone has actually listened to her.

“It’s the prince,” she finds herself saying. “He… he is not kind to me. He is very cruel.”

“So you are a princess on land?” says the not-girl, and she beams. “Oh, I knew it. I knew you must be someone very special.”

Sansa shakes her head, which feels so very heavy. “No. Not a princess. I used to think that was very important, but I don’t any more.”

“My family wants to make _me_ a princess, you know,” the mermaid— _yes, she must be one, what else could she be?_ —says seriously. “Under the sea. They think it’s very important. But we’re not royalty, we’re only hangers-on. That’s what my grandmother says. What’s your name?” she adds brightly.

“Sansa.”

“Sansa,” the mermaid says, as if trying the word out on her tongue, rolling it around. “Oh, it’s so lovely. You’re so lovely. And your hair, it’s like that—that bright thing—”

“The sun?”

“Yes, up in the—” She points upward, gesturing expansively.

“The sky?”

The mermaid nods more and more excitedly, clasping her hands together. There’s webbing between her fingers, Sansa notices with a fascinated shudder. She wants to reach out and touch it, although it also makes her want to recoil. “Yes, in the sky—and your eyes, they’re like the shallowest water, here.”

It’s like speaking to a very small child, or someone from a faraway land who has only recently learned your tongue. “What’s your name?” Sansa asks.

“Margaery.” The mermaid smiles and twists her body a bit enticingly, hiding her mouth behind a greenish-tinged hand. “Do you think I’m beautiful too, Sansa?”

“Oh, yes,” Sansa says honestly, and Margaery beams and preens, striking the surface of the water with her tail.

“Oh, thank you. That’s so kind of you to say. Everyone tells me I’m very vain, but why is that such a terrible thing?”

Sansa nods, but suddenly feels weary again. She can’t but sniffle as she rests her chin on her folded knees.

The mermaid's eyes widen. Without saying a word, she reaches out and they link fingers, as much as they can. The webbing between Margaery’s fingers extends up to where the knuckles are, and out of the water they gleam like the nacre of the inside of an oyster shell. “Oh, Sansa,” Margaery says plaintively, “don’t be so sad. Please.” She kisses Sansa’s fingers, then suddenly slides them into her mouth, and Sansa starts in surprise. Those pearly teeth are sharp.

“Oh!” the mermaid says, in distress. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry… my family is always telling me, I’m very forward.” She dimples at Sansa, whose heart is soothed into a familiar ache at this girlish display. Although she recognizes it as something she herself discarded long ago, Sansa is strangely charmed.

Margaery gently licks Sansa’s fingers as if to soothe any wounds she’s made, and then carefully places Sansa’s hand back on her knee, beaming. “You taste _wonderful_ ,” she informs her. “Could I… could I maybe… kiss you?”

Sansa feels herself blushing. “Oh… I—”

“Just once,” Margaery amends quickly, glancing down and back up again, dark lashes glinting with salt water. Her long green hair streams down into the water over her high small breasts. “I’ve always wanted to kiss a human, and you’re the first one I’ve ever met.” She cocks her head and confides, “But even if you weren’t, I’d still want to kiss you.”

Sansa blushes, filled with sudden longing and curiosity. “Oh,” she says, “all right…” And she inclines her head. Margaery leans up to steal a kiss—her lips are as soft as her teeth are sharp.

“I don’t believe girls often kiss other girls,” Sansa says a bit dizzily, when it’s done.

Margaery’s tail beats the water in delight, and she is beaming from ear to pointed ear. “Really, you don’t on land? Girl mermaids kiss other girl mermaids as often as they please. It’s not frowned upon, only uncommon. But I don’t mind that at all,” she confides. “It’s better to be unusual, I think.”

A voice rings out over the stones, over the godswood, all the way from the castle. “Sansa!”

Sansa’s shoulders sag. She doesn’t realize how clear her reaction must be, however, until she looks at the mermaid. Margaery’s entire face is a frown, colored with dismay. “You’re unhappy, Sansa.”

Sansa makes a noise halfway between impatience and pain. “Margaery, I am always unhappy here.” She slowly gets to her feet. “I have to go.”

The mermaid reaches out her hand to grasp Sansa’s before she can turn away. “When will you come to see me again?" 

Sansa looks at the hopeful face before her, and hardly dares to hope that this could actually happen again, that she might actually be able to hold onto something good. “Tomorrow,” she promises. “If I can.”

 

* * *

 

She manages to come back again not the next day, but the following one. She doesn’t expect much, having half-convinced herself that it was all a hallucination or a waking daydream, but when she makes it down to the rocks a familiar greenish head pops out almost immediately, as if Margaery had been lying there waiting.

“You didn’t come,” the mermaid pouts, moving out from behind her rock. Sansa has to steady herself for a moment at the realization that this is truly real, or something like it.

“I’m sorry. The prince’s mother was very angry with me, and I had to stay in the castle.” She pauses to find better footing, and then sinks to her knees in her purple gown.

“I thought you’d forgotten me.” Margaery’s eyes, widened, are a beguiling mix of green, gold, and brown in the sunlight.

“No, of course not.” Sansa manages a smile, although her heart feels heavy today as it so often does, and the mermaid’s face positively lights up in response.

“Oh, good. Because I’ve got you something.” She dives into the water and then comes up with something glinting in her hand. She tips it into Sansa’s waiting palm, and Sansa dries it on her skirt before examining. It’s a golden pendant on a chain.

“I found it in one of the sunken ships,” Margaery explains. “There’s quite a lot out there, you know.” She turns and jerks her chin to indicate the bay, still and becalmed in the afternoon sun.

“Yes, there was a great battle only a few months ago, and…” Sansa pauses for a moment to remember that most of the ships had been warships, without much treasure. Who had this pendant belonged to, before her? The thought worries her, haunts her. When she looks up again, the mermaid is watching her coyly. “Do you like it?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then you should wear it,” the mermaid demands, “as a token of my affections.”

Sansa laughs, and complies. The clasp is only a little rusted from its time under the sea.

“May I have another kiss now?” Margaery asks slyly, and Sansa smiles at her transparent guile but gives her what she asks. They sit in the sun all afternoon, the mermaid chattering on about her family and her life under the sea, and Sansa asking questions with the sort of pure curiosity she hasn’t felt in a long time.

As the sun sets and it begins to grow dark, Sansa feels comfortable enough to start sharing some of her own stories about her childhood in the north. A chill descends as the moon rises and the very air around them grows still, cold, and blue. The moon reflects its white circle on the still water’s surface.

Margaery shivers. “It sounds so very cold in your home. Like it is now.”

“It’s much colder in the North,” Sansa says, her throat squeezing.

“Don’t be sad to think of your home,” Margaery says plaintively, "it sounds so lovely. Just like you." She beats her tail against the surface of the water. “But I must go now, Sansa. My family will be wondering where I am. Might I have another kiss, to say farewell?”

Although she thinks the mermaid is getting rather spoiled with her kisses, Sansa complies. Margaery disappears beneath the water’s surface with hardly a ripple to indicate she was ever there. Feeling strangely disappointed and lonely, Sansa rises to her feet and trudges back up to the castle alone, gathering her heavy gown around her as she goes.

 

* * *

 

When Sansa hears about her mother and brother that something breaks in her, something soft and delicate and whole like a wishbone, something that she never knew she needed so badly. It feels a lot like hope. But now it is broken—now it’s gone.

She goes to the waterside, the only place she feels like she can truly be herself, and cries until she runs out of tears. Finally she feels cold wet hands grasping hers, a damp head kneading at her lap in dismay, and she looks up to see the mermaid there, watching her.

“Oh, Sansa,” she cries, “what’s happened?”

Somehow Sansa finds the words to explain, and then she has to stop and close her eyes because it’s too much. She finally opens them again. Because Margaery’s face is already wet with salt water, it takes a moment for Sansa to realize that she is crying, too.

“Oh, Sansa, I can’t bear to see you so unhappy,” she says passionately. “It hurts me so, Sansa, because I love you.”

“You hardly know me,” Sansa says weakly.

“I do,” the mermaid insists, and she beats her tail against the foamy bubbles on the shore to make her point clear. “I know you. I know what your heart desires, and the sadness you have over what your heart lacks. I know your deepest sorrows, and that your family is gone. I love you so, Sansa. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything, below the sea or above it.”

Sansa doesn’t know what to say. “Oh… I…” And it isn’t until Margaery reaches up to cup her face in her hands, licking away her tears hungrily, that she even realizes she is crying again.

“Kiss me, my love,” Margaery tells her in an insistent whisper, “and I’ll make it all better. I can take all your pain away.”

Sansa doesn’t think, she just does what feels right. They kiss, and kiss, and suddenly there is a strong jerk and a rush of pressure but Sansa’s eyes are closed and Margaery’s hands tighten on Sansa’s face, and she doesn’t think of anything else. When Sansa opens her eyes again at last, there is only darkness around them.

No. Not darkness. It’s a lush green stillness, and Sansa’s eyes burn. She realizes then what Margaery has done. Margaery has taken Sansa to her world, pulled her into the deep water, and as Margaery’s eyes meet Sansa’s she lights up and begins talking, lips moving animatedly, bubbles streaming forth—but Sansa cannot hear what she is saying.

She closes her mouth, feels her chest welling up with a sharp pressure and the familiar knoll of panic. _No_ , she thinks, just as Margaery’s eyes begin to widen with realization and shock and horror. _No, this is better than what lies above_ , as she forces herself to let go of her panic, releasing it for a feeling of eerie, rolling calm. Margaery is gesturing, pointing upwards, but Sansa shakes her head, autumn-red hair billowing in the greenish water around them.

“No,” she says, drawing water into her lungs as she does so, and she can’t be sure but it looks again as if Margaery’s eyes are filling with tears. She presses forward and kisses the mermaid girl again, closes her eyes tight, tries to ignore the searing feeling that is the lack of air in her body. 

When she dies, she is being held in the arms of a girl who loves her. Eventually her body will turn to foam, and it will decorate the shores of King's Landing. It will be the only reminder of the girl who had once suffered so much there, and found a happier fate dying under the surface of the sea.

 

 


End file.
